


Dark Green

by Sashataakheru



Series: The Ballad of the Black Dog [2]
Category: Australian Comedy RPS, The Chaser RPF
Genre: Angst, Laughapalooza, M/M, Melbourne International Comedy Festival (MICF), POV Second Person, festival sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 'Don't Get Sad' at MICF 2005. A reluctant reunion only ends in pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Green

Green was never one of your favourite colours, but you can't help but feel a stab of jealousy when you see him on stage again, and with Paul of all people. There's no way to compete with Paul. Suddenly, you don't blame him for moving on. You can see how close they are on stage, the way they flirt like mad. You were always too shy to do the same with him. You think it's stupid for it to still affect you all these years later. You wish you could move on so completely the way he has. Yet, you still cling to it without knowing why.

You watch him on stage, watch them together, and fight the urge to scream. A hand lands on your shoulder, breaking you from your staring.

"They're good, aren't they?" It's Tim Minchin. You recognise his voice immediately.

"Yeah, they're good," you murmur back, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

"Nervous?"

"No, no, well, maybe a bit," you admit.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Tim says, squeezing your shoulder.

"Thanks. I hope so," you say.

* * *

The night wears on. You find yourself drinking afterwards, trying to forget him, which is hard when he's slutdancing with Paul for all to see. You go to leave, fed up with the pain and jealousy stirring in your heart, but again, Tim finds you.

"You going already?" Tim says, grabbing your arm as you go to walk past him.

"Uh, I was thinking about-"

"Come on, stay a while. You don't have to do anything tomorrow, do you?"

You look at him and his pleading eyes. "No, nothing important. I suppose I could stay a bit longer." You shift awkwardly, giving in to him.

"Good man. Come on, I'll get you another beer," Tim says, taking your empty bottle from you and leading you away.

* * *

You've been avoiding him all night, but it can wait no longer. He sees you and makes his way over to you, glad to see you. You fake happiness to stop him thinking you're not pleased to see him. He can't know you're still cut up about it all these years later. The shame would be far too humiliating for words.

"Andy, mate, good to see you again. How you doing?" Cam says as he slaps your back in greeting, resting his arm on your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, doing alright. You seem to be doing quite well for yourself," you say, forcing yourself to speak.

"Yeah, things are good," he says with an easy smile.

"Are you and-" You're not even sure why you ask it, but you need to know.

"Me and Paul? Yeah, sort of, if it's possible to be with Paul. You seeing anyone right now?"

"Me? No, not really. I mean, a little bit, but nothing official. At least you've still got a music career. All I'm left with is comedy, which I suppose will have to do," you say, changing the topic.

"Hey, don't get jealous, man. You'll always be my rock star, remember?" Cam says as if you're still together.

You cringe at the pet name he used to call you. "Nah, I'm nothing compared to you. You were always better than me anyway," you say.

"Words, words, words. Come on, I think someone needs cheering up. One more round for old times' sake?" Cam says, and you notice a small spark in his eyes that you know means you're going to regret this tomorrow morning.

In spite of yourself, you answer him, knowing exactly what he means. "Yeah, one last run, hey?"

"Come on, let's get out of here," he says, linking your arms together.

"Paul won't mind?" you say, suddenly struck with nerves.

"He's already preoccupied. Don't worry about him, alright?" Cam says, reassuring you.

* * *

It's only a dark hotel room, you have a vague recollection it might've been yours, but it seems to do the trick. You'd started kissing in the lift, his hands roaming your skin with uneasy familiarity. He'd made it perfectly clear he was in charge, as always. You could never better him. He was just like Chas, or even Craig, in that regard. He grabs your slender wrists in his hands and pulls you inside, kicking the door closed behind you.

Everything happens like clockwork, as if nothing had changed at all in five years. He presses you into the bed, pinning you down as he kisses you again, deft fingers stripping you as they always did. Every inch of your skin is aching for him, as if no one could ever be as good as him. You know he's not bothering with being anything other than a drunken one night stand to you, but you wish he'd make love to you again like he used to, when he spent hours with tender caressing and gentle murmuring, comforting you in a way you had never been able to find anywhere else.

He bites down hard on your shoulder, making you yelp and grasp him tightly. He's stroking you roughly and you respond to him with fierce passion, still remembering how much you loved him. He kisses you deeply and rolls you onto your back, hard dick pressing into your arse. You lose yourself in his touch as he prepares you both, unable to think of anything more you want than for him to thrust inside you again.

It's as wonderful as you remember it, and he works you hard, pushing you so far into your memories you're not sure you can escape them. Every stroke is familiar, and the way he stimulates you has you writhing like mad into the bed, yearning for release. He always knew how to please you. You're moaning with need as he thrusts inside you, remembering all the times he fucked you before. The reward is as wonderful as always, leaving your spine tingling.

The pleasure doesn't last, though. Once he's done, he wastes little time comforting you before he leaves you all over again. You lie face down on the bed, unable to watch as he dresses. If he notices you're upset about it, he says nothing. You couldn't stop him leaving last time. What hope do you have of making him stay this time?

"Later, Hansen. See you next year," he says as he leaves, voice filled with nothing but drunken satisfaction. You were nothing but a conquest tonight, another number to add to his tally, taken and thrown away again with no care at all.

As the door clicks shut, you start crying again, thrust back to the day he left you the first time. The howling pain you thought you'd left behind comes back to haunt you. It's a bitter reminder of why you vowed never to come to ComFest in the first place. You didn't need the constant reminders, the jealousy, that reminded you of what you once had. Everyone treats you like a whore. No one bothers to love you. You don't belong with them, not anymore.

You suddenly feel so very alone. No one in this Godforsaken city loves you. You pine for home with such great longing, hating how he still affects you all these years later. He makes you feel so utterly worthless, shatters your fragile confidence in one fell swoop. How you wish you'd never met him.

* * *

Some time later, you're aware you can't spend the night like this. You reach for your phone, knowing you need someone here with you or you'll go mad again. In the darkness, the screen lights up an eerie yellow-green. You scroll through the names until you find the one you want. You wait nervously as it rings, breathing a sigh of relief when you hear his voice answer your call.

"Andrew, what can I do for you, mate?" Chris says, and you can tell he's drunk by the sound of his voice.

"Chris?" You say, unable to think clearly enough to try and hide your tears.

"Andrew, are you alright?" Chris says, suddenly concerned.

"Chris? Chris, I-I need you. Please," is all you can manage to say.

"You back in our room?" he says.

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," you say.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Hang in there," he says and hangs up.

You bury your face in your pillow as the tears fall again, waiting for Chris to come and rescue you.

* * *

He finds you still lying on your bed face down and naked. He switches the light on as he closes the door softly, coming to you quickly. He pulls you up, and you're limp in his arms, unable to feel, to react to him. You hate that he's seeing you like this, but you need him to make you feel better.

"Hey, what happened? You alright?" His voice is all concern, and you know he hates seeing you hurt.

"N-No. I'm not alright. I thought I was over him, but-" You pause, wondering where to go from there. "He left me again. I shouldn't care this much, but I do. Take all this stupid pain away, Chris. I can't bear it any longer."

He brings you into a warm hug, holding you tightly. You grasp onto him as if the very act will make you better. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't care about your infidelity, but he holds you close, and once you've stopped crying, he kisses you slowly, his hands caressing your body gently as he begins to ease your troubled heart.

You fall asleep eventually, curled up in his arms, wishing you'd never gone out tonight. You make a silent promise never to go back to Melbourne for ComFest, not for him, not for anyone. Not if he's just going to leave you broken and bleeding again.

With a soft kiss to your forehead, you drift off to sleep, safe in Chris' warm arms, hoping that one day it won't hurt as much as it does right now.

"I love you, Andrew. Don't you ever forget that," he whispers to you as you drift off.

You smile weakly, grateful for his affection. "Love you too," you murmur.

You grasp his hand tightly. He holds you close, giving your neck soft kisses. You let him caress you into sleep with light touches, gentle kisses and soft whisperings meant for no one else but you. His soft murmurings are all you need to hear to know you're loved, even if no one else does.


End file.
